Darker than Black
by Light Brown Shoes
Summary: (SBurb never happened,) A few years ago, Rose did something because of a being in the back of her mind that sent her to a school for those society fears. There, the thing in the back of her mind grew to a size where she could no longer ignore it, no longer co-exist with it, no longer stand its near-constant noise... and so, desperate to have her mind as her own, she begins to kill.
1. Chapter 1

"She's wrong," they say.

"She's weird," they say.

"She's a witch," they say.

"She's arrogant."

"She's defective."

"She's a freak."

"She's a bitch."

Their words follow me around the school, floating behind me, withering in the air and flicking my ears, my neck, my cheeks as I thread my way through the hallway.

I go to a school of less than two hundred; I go to a school of a hundred and ninety two people.

I go to a school of cliques and gangs and groups.

I go to a school of monsters.

All of them, all of them, dull and black and evil, twisting around each other, feeding off the bile that rises out of one another's throats, feeding off of the dripping threats, the frozen names, the brittle lies. Passing them from mouth to mouth like kisses at a party, until the whole school is fed, until the whole school is bloated on what they think is power. They disgust me, they make me sick to my stomach, sick to my mind, if they were worth it bile would rise in my throat at the thought of them. They are the ants and I am the spider, and they are too stupid to realize this.

"Her lipstick is made out of crushed bugs," they say.

"Her hair is rinsed with the juices squeezed from children's hearts," they say.

"Her skin is washed with piss," they say.

"Her teeth are white from sucking bone marrow."

"Her eyes are colored from the blood of babies."

"Her voice was stolen by the devil in third grade."

"Her thoughts are woven in the screams of her parents."

I am outside of them, I am on my own. I find my way through the halls without assistance, I force my way through their bodies, their stench, their clogging thoughts by myself, the only one at the school without a friend, the only one at school without fellow monsters.

I'm too wrong for them.

I'm too different.

Too dark.

They don't realize the extent of my power, they don't realize the extent of my disgust. They are ignorant to the fact of how far above them I am, they are ignorant to the fact that the blacker than black place in the back of my mind hates them: the arrogant, those that think they are the blackest, those that think they are the worst, those that are wrong.

That's the difference between us- they are black, but I am blacker, I am void of any and all color, and they are stupid, wondering how, despite being as dark as they are, I am still darker, the buzz of competition rushes through their minds, fuzzing their thoughts, blinding them to the fact that, while they drip the black; I am the black, I am beyond the black.

And this hurts them.

That's how it has been for seven years. I am surrounded by black snow, frozen in time by the cold, by the dark, and they wish they could reach my level, but they cannot. I understand, they cannot comprehend, I allow, they fight, I am fearless, they are scared. Their arrogance, their pride, their whole being is a façade, is as fragile as glass, and I want so badly to watch it shatter.

They are the kindergarteners who have won trophies they know they don't deserve but accept anyway, they are the children who look upon the real winner and try to bring them down to their level, but I am too high, too far above them, and they will never, never reach me.

It took a long time to accept how dark I was. To accept the squirming mass of void in my mind, in my chest, where my heart and lungs should be. When I was younger, I didn't want to be this way. I wanted to be light, I wanted to be yellow or pink, anything but this color, this color that is darker than black. I wanted it out, out, out of my mind, out of my body, it was sitting in such a way where I thought that maybe by twisting something, tilting my mind a certain way, I could be rid of it.

I never managed to do that. So I accepted it. I embraced it. At sixteen, I gave in.

_Good girl._

I think my mother used to be like me- darker than black, worse than those few who were simply black. I think my mother used to be as dark as I was, I think she used to be void of any light at all, I think we would have gotten along much better had she chosen not to drown her black in a rush of white, depriving it of air and slowly liquefying it in alcoholic beverage after alcoholic beverage.

I almost followed her, once, when I was fifteen and desperate to be rid of this curse- but the void saw what my mother had done, the void knew what was coming, and all the alcohol did was make it angry because it was prepared, it was not caught off guard like my mother's void had been, and I didn't touch a single bottle after that, because it was useless if I couldn't drown something.

When I was sixteen I named the void that was darker than black- I named the mass of withering _stuff _the horrorterrors.

From there it seemed to grow, and that's when everything really slipped.

It had always been there, and I had thought it was a part of me, something that, while I couldn't control, was definitely not an outside force. But, the moment I gave it a name, the moment the word 'Horrorterror' had popped into my mind, it seemed… different. 'Happy,' is not the right word, nor does 'pleased,' fit comfortably. But there was a change, a positive one in the way that the horrorterrors settled in the back of my mind, in the middle of my chest, like it was at last able to settle in comfortably, like I actually had had the power to have kicked it out prior to this naming, a power I didn't know I had. But the naming of it- it stripped me of this power, it settled the horrorterrors into my mind permanently. For a moment I considered crying; my throat closed up and I looked to the ceiling, blinking back the sting in my eyes, but the realization dawned that I could do nothing now, the fact that I had not only accepted it, but had given it power…

I went back to staring at the chalkboard, listening to the teacher drone on and feeling the horrorterrors tickle the back of my mind, the disgust slowly building, blocking any other feeling in, like it always does, as those around me fidget and twiddle and take satisfaction in the pathetic amount of dark that they are. They sicken me, they sicken the horrorterrors, they make my stomach churn and my mouth go dry with hate. They became more persistent after that, and, everyday, it seemed more and more like they were something that wasn't meant to be a part of me, like they were something invading my mind, and I cherished the rare flashes of blue calm when they were silent for a moment, when they were still, not because I didn't want them, but because the blue meant my mind could relax, a release that I felt immediately, a release that I relished in.

I suppose that's why I did what I did, I suppose that's why I went all the way. The horrorterrors became too strong after I named them, they became something other than what they had been before, when there was just a simple desire for blood, a simple call of hate. After a year, I realized there now seemed to be a _need _for blood, a push for hate that differed from before; before, I acknowledged the hate, bathed in the hate, but now I was forced to take in hate, too, the feeling so strong my entire body would go hot, lasting for hours and hours and hours. There was no escaping it now, it was embedded in me, and I could do nothing. It wasn't the hate transferring from me through exposure, it was the hate becoming a part of me, easing its way in from a place that I had no control over, that I had no way to stop the flow, snaking through my mind, embedding itself in my heart.

So why not submit to it? The whispers were growing stronger, growing too loud- yes, there has been excess volume before, but now it was too much to even think about ignoring. Now, nearly all of my thoughts were drowned in those of the horrorterrors; eventually, I couldn't tell if it was their shouting for blood or my shouting for blood that drove me to kill.

So it was at one in the morning when I snuck out of my room, padding across the roof in my bare feet, the horrorterrors helping to direct my mind, my body, towards the bus station, towards the homeless man that always slept there at night. The knife was clutched tightly in my hand, the horrorterrors laughing in my mind, pleased- or was it I that was pleased, at the prospect of what I was about to do?

Either way, happiness drifted through the black.

And, then, after the fifth or sixth withdraw of the knife, now red, blue flashed through my mind, the black lightening in color until it, too, hinted at blue.

I returned home an hour later, my hands, my mind, and my soul bloody, but my clothes clean. I washed off in the bathroom and slipped under my covers, my mind, I realized, was infuriatingly calm- I knew I should be upset, I knew I should be crying, screaming, rushing to tell someone, anyone, what I had just done, but the horrorterrors were quieter than usual, and it was almost peaceful in my mind, and it had been so long since I had felt this way that I just wanted to lay there, surrounded by warmth, stillness, and think my own thoughts, my mind silent other than that, no hate or disgust bubbling underneath.

It didn't help forever, obviously, but the sight of the bloody body below me seemed to please the horrorterrors, and they relaxed for a little bit. And I really, really liked that.

I didn't realize how much I missed the blue.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything was calm for _hours_ after the man's heart stopped beating. My thoughts were deliciously blue, wonderfully streaked with color that grew stronger with each passing minute. I loved it. Pinks and yellows swirling around- eventually, not a black thought in sight, and barely a blue idea among them. When I finally drifted off to sleep, too tired to fight it anymore, despite how much I wanted to enjoy the quiet, my dreams were different. Less dark. There was a light, floaty feeling to them. I never wanted it to end.

-/-/-

Morning came, sunlight streaming through my window. Long ago, I had moved my bed so that it wouldn't hit my face… it made waking up much more relaxing. Now, I opened my eyes to the sunbeams' under-shine, the softer light than the harsh one I had grown used to expecting to, and, now, realized that I loved, see in the mornings.

I stretched, enjoying the feeling of my muscles tightening, the feel of my sheets brushing against my skin, the feeling of my breath in my lungs.

I didn't realize all that I was missing with the horrorterrors in my mind. The peace- the peace! How could I describe it fully? A constant whirling in my mind, a constant black, a constant hate, forever angry, forever shifting, forever moving, no rest no rest no rest- it was gone, all of it, and silence blanketed my thoughts, _my _thoughts, I knew for sure they were mine. I had my mind to myself, I had the calm, I had the quiet for the first time. Ever. I let myself relax further into the blankets and pillows, breathing deeply, staring at the sunlight on my ceiling. The feeling of relief- a feeling of relief I didn't even know I needed, was overpowering. My mind felt so different, so wonderfully different. It felt like, I imagined, what it must have felt like before I got the horrorterrors, (if there was ever even a time,), it felt like what others must feel like all the time.

I wanted this to stay.

I needed this to stay.

For a moment, after that thought, there was a brief, indigo idea amidst the calm- _Shouldn't you be worried? Shouldn't you be upset? A man's blood stains your hands._

But then it was gone, smothered under a mass of pinks and yellows and blues screaming about their own lives, about their own desires, wondering why they can't exist, why the man's life was more important than their own, why, why, why couldn't they exist, why couldn't they be happy-

I sat up, shoving my blankets to the floor, the blue thought powering through the pile. Suddenly, I was breathing heavily.

Life isn't fair- I knew this. Different lives all have the same values; I knew this too. No one was worth more, no one was worth less.

But my horrorterrors, my pink and yellow thoughts, my sanity… is sanity not more important than life? Without sanity, is one's life even worse than death? Death may bring consciousness, death may bring sanity… death carries comfort. The man died to save my sanity, to save what is most precious to a person, what is now most precious to me- he is now free of this earth, he is now in a place where, I would imagine, he would always be sane, would always know and feel yellows and pinks. And I, because of his sacrifice, would be in the same situation, just alive. Sanity- that is worth more than life. Without sanity, one also does not have life, right? Sanity rules over life, sanity makes life worthwhile, without sanity you cannot have life, but you can have sanity without life. I took life, but I did not take sanity- so, would this mean that I even took _life_? The living aspect of it, yes. But the raw form of Life…

I grit my teeth, drawing my legs up to my chest.

This is fair, isn't it?

The indigo thought was growing, turning several yellow thoughts an ugly green, several pink thoughts a strange shade of purple. Something seemed to cut through my mind, jarring me.

What had I done? I had killed a man.

Oh my God. I killed a man.

I jumped up quickly, my feet sinking into the mattress. I didn't know what I was doing- I felt faint, I felt like I was floating away. I looked around my room, at the needles and yarn, at the desk, at my books and pencils and writing journals, at my computer, at my hands.

I killed a man. I ended a life. For me. To help me. I murdered someone. The cold logic from before melted, puddling at the base of my mind, my thoughts growing bigger and bigger, louder and louder, less and less blue. They were going to burst out of me, they were going to explode, flying out of my head. Already, they were increasing in size, pressing against my skull from the inside, too big to stay where they were much longer, too loud too purple too guilty for my mind and my head was splitting open-

I put my hands on my temples and dropped to my knees, reality hitting me in the stomach _you murdered you killed you killed a man _my mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out _killer murderer he's dead dead dead _I needed someone I needed someone to come oh, God, what do I do _his blood coats your hands _and then a scream ripped from my throat, my vocal chords sawing into motion, a monotonous cry that grated against my ears, that scared most the thoughts into silence, the greens and purples shutting up, staying quiet.

But the original indigo thought stayed, circling around and around my mind, changing itself slightly, forcing me to realize fully what I had done- _you are a killer, you took a life, you are a killer._

I removed my hands from my head, hugging myself now, closing my eyes, swaying slightly.

_What am I going to do?_

I opened my eyes, slowly, and looked around my room again. Everything was in the place I had left it- everything was still normal. I took a deep, shaky breath, my lungs expanding until I thought they would burst. Maybe-

The door to my room burst open, slamming against the wall and bouncing back towards my mother, standing in the doorway.

"Rose?" she asked, her eyes wide, panicked, darting around the room before meeting mine. My name was slurred slightly, but her eyes were clear, alert. "Wha's wrong? Why'd you scream?" She took a step towards me, a hand on her hip. "Is someone tryin'ta hurt you?"

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Wordlessly, I shook my head. She pursed her lips, shifting her martini glass from one hand to the other. "Okay. Okay," she muttered. "You're okay?" I nodded, watching as she ran a hand through her hair.

"Good, good. Okay. All's good, then." She grinned at me, then, relaxing her stance, the air in the room changing from the tense feeling that I hadn't noticed until now. "Wanna get breakfeest?" she asked, then giggled. "Sorry. Breakfast."

Normally, I would have said no. Normally, the horrorterrors would be withering, blacker than black, spewing curses and spitting insults, disgust dripping from my mind, vile words from my lips.

But now-

Now I needed breakfast with my mom.

I nodded, twisting off my bed, and padded after her down the stairs to the kitchen.

Should it have frightened me that, despite the warring colors, I never once thought of confessing?


	3. Chapter 3

It was the first time in a long time that I had eaten with my mom.

It was the first time in a long time that I had spent more than a few minutes with my mom without feeling like I needed to kill her unless I was able to get away very, very quickly. Now, though, her presence was almost soothing. I could feel my mind shifting, mending itself from the battle that was tearing it apart earlier.

Again, I thought back to all that I was missing, and felt a small cramp in my chest.

We were sitting across from each other at the table, chewing and munching and sipping and chatting about nothing. Every once in a while, when I ducked my head to shovel eggs into my mouth, I could see my mom looking at me, her eyes… disbelieving, untrusting, unsure… something along those lines. Normally, had I received that type of look, I would have been scowling, imagining ripping her arms from her torso, her ears from her head, her-

Wait. No. No, no, no, no, no. Please, no. My heart seemed to split in two- one half dropping to my stomach, the other leaping to my throat.

Why were they back so soon? I had- I killed a man! They should be gone! There was another twinge in my chest, but I shoved it away, screaming my former logic about sacrifice in the back of my mind.

I bent my head down and squeezed my eyes shut, clenching my fists under the table.

_But now,_ I thought, _now I can understand that look, because I have been weird, I have been off, I have been wrong, and she has every right to-_

_-cower before me, begging for her life-_

_-FEEL SUSPICIOUS of my new attitude_.

I suddenly wanted to cry.

I took a deep breath and looked back up at my mother, who was taking a sip from her orange juice. Briefly, I wondered what else was in the drink, but she spoke before I had a chance to really ponder.

"So, Rosey-" I quirked a lip at the nickname, remembering a small child in a princess dress who threw tantrums when her mother wouldn't help her rescue the prince, "-you seem a little… happier than normal."

"Uh-"

"I mean, I was getting so worried. You stopped reading, there were no analysises- analysi? Analyses?- of characters, and I hadn't received a knitted article of clothing in years!"

I bit my lip. "Sorry."

_What are you apologizing for? She should be apologizing! She's pathetic. She's-_

"Oh, no need to apologize, dear. I was just worried, is all." She set her glass down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Is everything alright?"

_No, nothing's alright-_

_ -I'm looking at your disgusting person, blood still in your body-_

_-because this thing is in my mind and it's coming back-_

_ -and it needs to be emptied of organs, intestines wrapped around your neck-_

_-and I killed a man-_

"Everything's fine, Mom," I said, hoping my voice sounded stronger than I felt. "I just decided to pursue other interests for a while."

Apparently, it did, because her next words were, "Oh? Like what?"

"Well, ah," I racked my mind, trying to think of something she had never seen me do before but that I had evidence to support, because I knew she was going to ask to see it- "I started writing," I finished a moment later.

"Writing?"

"Yes. Um. About wizards."

"A writer! Oh, Rose, you have to let me see your work! And wizards? I knew the wizards were good!"

I let out a small puff of air, relieved. "Yeah, sure, Mom. Later, though," I added, thinking I'd have to have a bit of time to find all the notebooks that held the wizard stories I wrote so long ago.

"Tonight?"

_-Tonight won't work, you'll be long gone, buried in the backyard-_

_No! _"Sure."

"Good! Okay, honey. I'm looking forward to it!"

"Yeah. Me, too."

We sat in silence for a minute- though a silence that was not strained; rather, one that was almost calming.

Eventually, she grabbed her orange juice again and finished it off with a big swig. "I'm sorry to rush off so suddenly- I have a meeting, though, in a half hour, and I can't be late again!" She giggled, winking at me. "But, hey, they can't fire their best woman, now, can they?"

"No, I don't suppose they can."

She laughed, placing a hand on the top of my head as she walked by. "See you tonight, Rosey!" she called over her shoulder. I hid my cringe and shouted a good-bye to her as she shut the door.

I sat there a minute, looking at the dirty plates that she left behind on the table, trying to keep my mind empty. It didn't work for too long.

_If you want to keep them away, you'll probably have to kill again._

_ Good._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hi! I went back and edited the previous chapters; it's mostly small edits- more description, the argument with herself, I think, is now more clear, etc.- but there is a major edit of plot in the previous chapter, (if you don't want to re-read the whole thing, it's mostly in the last quarter of chapter three that matters for plot,). Thank you all for reading this story, though- I hope you like it! :)**

The house was very quiet after Mom left; the only sounds were the clicking of the air conditioning and the faint rush of water. These sounds only seemed to amplify how quiet the house was, though,

_You could have filled the silence with her screams-_

_No!_

I shook my head, grabbing at my hair. I was not going to think that. I was not going to think that. Holding my breath, I glanced up at the clock. Only six hours had passed since I had- since I had saved my sanity. And they were already coming back. I pushed my thumbs into my temples, scowling down at the carpet. What was I going to do? Keep killing?

_Yes, please, please do-_

_Stop!_

I took a deep breath, the air shuddering through my lungs. I need to think. I need to think. Biting my lip, looking down at my hands, I realized I had no idea what I even needed to consider first. A feeling pushed its way through my chest- sadness, hopeless, despair… I couldn't identify it; all I knew was that it was not positive. A lump formed in my throat, quite suddenly, and it hurt to breathe. What the _fuck_ could I do?

I turned in a slow circle, hoping that would get me somewhere, that something in the room- the wizards, that stupid vacuum cleaner, the pillows- would trigger something, some brilliant idea that would give me all the answers, that would give me a resolution.

Shockingly, it didn't.

A few more minutes passed by as I stood there, thinking about how I needed to think of ways to stop this. It was stupid; I know it was stupid, but it was like my mind had dropped all of its thoughts, all of its solutions, all of it except for the most basic parts, leaving me feeling empty due to the lack of thinking. All I could think about was how I needed to be thinking something else. I tried to, forcing my way through these thoughts to muse over the one I actually needed to think about, but it got too complicated, too difficult, and I wandered back to the first thought- an easier thought that gave the illusion of production.

I was a fool.

After the clock chimed the quarter hour, I shifted, waiting for the silence to descend again. Finally, after the last few chimes of a tune I had heard since childhood but still could not give a name to faded away, there was silence.

Almost.

It took a second, but then I realized there was an undercurrent. Not that of the water or the air, but of something else. Some other noise. A noise that sent a shiver down my spine. My heart leapt to my throat, joining the lump, and I tilted my head to the side, listening, trying to hear more even though I told myself to start talking aloud, so that I wouldn't hear whatever it was, so I wouldn't figure out what it was.

My ears straining, the air frozen in my lungs, the undercurrent of noise became louder, wordless whispers that seemed to come from-

Oh.

_Oh._

My head.

There was no noise outside in the room- my ears were hearing nothing, but- the whispers, they were growing in my head. I choked on the lump that had formed in my throat earlier, and a tear slid down my cheek. I shouldn't have listened. I shouldn't have listened.

They really were back there, awake, now.

Deciding to go up to my room- to knit, to research, to sleep… to do something in a place where the silence wasn't so strong, to distract myself or to shut myself off, to do something other than _listen_- It was unnerving, how I could hear their whispers in the back on my mind- nothing I could make out, but once I realized they were there, I couldn't stop hearing them.

I wanted school. I wanted Mom. I wanted my cat. I wanted one of my friends- the ones I stopped talking to nearly two years ago, when the hatred for them became too strong. Suddenly, I wanted them so, so much. It hit me like a punch to the gut- the desire to talk to them, to see their text colors and little smilie faces and all the exclamation points was so strong I felt like I was going to vomit.

I had been climbing the first stairs slowly, but now I was running, rushing around corners and sliding into walls, desperate to get to my room. I flew in through the door, and then whirled around and slammed it shut behind me, like what I wanted to keep away was physical, like a door could stop the whispers, stop the thoughts. I was breathing heavily, though I hadn't exerted myself, tears blurring my vision, mixing everything together, the purples and reds of my room swimming before me, the whispers growing louder and louder, yelling over my breathing, and I could hear them I would always hear them because I didn't need ears to hear them and i

had

to

get

rid

of

them.

With a rasping breath, I fell to my knees, screaming in my mind, trying to overpower the whispers.

_Get out! Get OUT! Get out get out getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutGETOUT!_

It was too much, too much, is this how it felt when they first came? Was there a first time? Why was this so _painful_?

I lifted my head, looking at the window, at where I knew the window was, because right now it was only a white mixed in with the other colors and I wanted needed to

_shatter it draw blood with the glass cut the throats of those lesser than you_

_Get out of here get away from here crawl away and never come back drown myself drown them in the river_

_drown them too take them down hold them under watch the air bubbles float away_

_break the window bring my blood bleed them out of me get them OUT_

_ we will always be_

I screamed, then, a scream that I couldn't hear, that I wouldn't be sure even sounded if my vocal chords weren't vibrating, if, when I woke up hours later, lying on my floor, my face stiff with tears, my throat hadn't been more sore than it ever had been before.

And they were still whispering.

I pushed myself up, my arms shaky, my legs jerky as I walked over to my laptop, unopened, powered down for so many years. Opening it up, pushing down the power button, I watched as the screen brightened, showing my old wallpaper, my old documents, the old chatting application.

I opened it up, logging myself in for the first time in two years and three months, barely remembering my password and username, trying to drown out the whispers that were louder than before in the back of my mind without thinking anything.

I glanced to the side, my little icon lit up. Something rotten swirled in my stomach, the thought that they might not even use this application, that they might not have remained in contact with one another, that they would even be on right now- It was unlikely that any of my old friends would also be here. I clapped a hand over my mouth, holding in a sob, and went to shut down before I could really see how empty it would be.

Just as I was about to log out, though, one of the icons lit up. Almost immediately, a message chimed in.

- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 13:27 -

TG: rose

TG: rose are you actually on

TG: holy shit rose whereve you been

TG: rose

TG: answer me

TG: goddamn it are you fucking serious

TG: you disappear for years and suddenly your shitty little icon lites up

TG: and youre not even going to respond

TG: if this is a glitch im going to complain to the company

Another fresh tear slid down my cheek, and I choked.

TT: Dave.

TG: fuck you are on

TG: where have you been

TG: weve been really worried

TG: theyve been really worried

TG: john the fucking idiot that he is thought you died

TG: but i said no nope not rose

TG: shes just off in usbekastan or some shit psychoanalyzing the poor

TG: was i right

TG: youre okay right

TT: I

TT: I need help.

TT: Please.


	5. Chapter 5

TG: rose

TG: whats wrong

TT: I don't know.

TG: well dont be too helpful or anything

_destroy him crush his head crush the mind that dare speak to us like this_

_Stop!_

TG: shit that was shitty

TG: sorry

_It's too late for apologies; make him-_

TG: im here for you okay

TG: ill stick by you

TG: like hillary stood by husband clinton

TG: what even was that guys first name

TG: probably something lame

TG: but anyway im here like she used to be for him

TG: except i wont leave

TG: even if i have a good reason

_Dave._

The lump in my throat grew. How could I have ever hated him? Hated any of them?

My fingers were shaky, and I had to fix mistakes twice before I could finish what measly response I had begun.

_You could hate them because they are the scum of the earth, they walk far beneath you, far beneath us, you will suck on their bones and walk on their skins-_

I forced the thoughts below screams.

TT: Thank you, Dave.

It wasn't enough, but I didn't know how else to word it, how to make it convey all of my gratitude. More tears fell, landing on my arms, on my hands, on my keyboard, and I frantically wiped them off, using the bottom of my shirt, rubbing frantically. Nothing could happen to this computer; and my skin burned at the contact. I realized I was being irrational, but I couldn't not get rid of them-

I realized that Dave had responded.

TG: sorry for the ramble

TG: rose whats wrong

TG: what can I do to help

TT: I don't know.

TT: I honestly don't know.

I took a shuddering breath.

I needed to tell him. Just come straight out and say it. This wasn't- this wasn't something that…

I didn't know what it wasn't. It was just suddenly extremely important that I tell him I killed someone.

_Confess? You foolish girl you'll burn if you confess we'll burn if you confess_

_Good._

TT: But… I've done something.

TT: I- well, last night. Around one in the morning- though, now that I think about it, it may have been closer to midnight- I think I killed a man.

TT: Well, no. I know I killed a man.

I typed and sent before I could think, before I could reconsider. I knew that this could potentially be a huge mistake. The police… the FBI… anyone with the most limited hacking abilities could now see this confession. But that's what they wanted me to think, that's the doubt they were planting in my mind, a blue thorned flower unfurling its petals in what needs to be a field of pink.

Dave's icon stayed lit, but there was no response from him for nearly two minutes. I didn't breathe for the entire duration. Finally, when his message chimed in, my heart beating wildly in my chest, I let it out and sucked in air, choking.

TG: okay if youre being serious ill help

My mind went blank, relief coursing pink through what few thoughts I managed to keep long enough to process. Several more messages chimed in, rapid fire.

TG: was it an accident

TG: are you okay

TG: did he do something to you

More tears flooded, and I leaned back so that they wouldn't fall on my arms or keyboard.

_He did something he existed he marred everything he touched until he was touched by your knife they're all like this all of them_

My hand flew to my mouth and I bit down on my thumb, holding back the scream, ragged in my throat. _Just- shut the _fuck_ up!_

TG: but rose if youre fucking punking me or some shit im going to be the one to kill someone

TG: no offense but thatd be pretty shitty for you to do after so long without talking

TG: or if this is anyone but rose dont think i wont kill

TG: rose

TT: I'm sorry.

TT: I'm so, so sorry. It's not a joke, though, Dave.

TT: I wish it was.

TT: It wasn't even provoked. I just went out and killed a man.

TT: I killed someone.

Again, the thought sledgehammered into my chest.

_and it was oh so nice_

_NO_

TT: I fucking killed someone.

TT: Oh, God.

TG: okay dont freak out

TG: rose listen to me are you okay right now

TG: does anyone else know or is it just me

TG: and what do you want to do

_We want you to lay before us bathed in your own blood_

TT: I don't know what I want to do.  
TT: I don't want to go to jail.

TT: But there are these voices. And it sounds like I'm crazy- I know I am. But that doesn't change the fact that there are these voices, and they keep telling me to kill, and I know I will do it again.

TT: And I just want them to stop.

Already crying, my tears intensified, another feeling of hopelessness washing over me. What have I done? I'm stuck, caught in this, a fly in a web so large it has no end.

It took me some time to clear the tears enough to read Dave's messages.

TG: voices

TG: like schitsophreinia or however the fuck its spelled

TG: is that what this is

TG: isnt that like the most curable

TG: or most scientifically understood or something

TG: youre the psychiatrist you should know

An anvil dropped on my head.

Of course.

_Of course!_

TT: Yes, something along those lines.

TT: I didn't even consider schizophrenia…

TG: dr dave helping out the crazies

TG: not that youre crazy

TG: but like you know scientifically speaking

TG: shit im going to shut up now

TG: lalonde sorry please dont leave

TT: Sorry. I'm kind of flustered right now.

TG: its okay

TG: what can i do to help

_He can let us wash in his blood_

TT: I really don't know.

I needed to stop saying that. Some air was pushed out that I suppose could be seen as a small chuckle.

TT: I'm sorry for my lack of knowledge today.

I'm sorry for killing someone and then dropping this on you the first time we talked in years.

TG: i guess you can be excused

TG: be better prepared next time though young rose

TG: contrary to popular belief there are some things that remain out of my knowledge bank

TG: never deposited them

TG: or i deposited them so long ago the bankteller lost the key and now theyre rotting in unopened safes

I bit my lip, ignoring the tightening of my throat.

TG: but so what can i do

I didn't respond. I didn't know how to.

TG: are you still in that same house with the water running below it or whatever

TG: the city that ends in opolous

TG: or yeah not opolus but that one like an hour from dc

Strange that he remembered.

TT: Yes.

TG: bro has something up in dc around there in about two weeks

TG: this is some creepily convenient timing you have there lalonde

TG: like seriously your weird psychic stuff must have been acting up again

TG: telling your murder urges to wait until the time was right

TG: sorry

TG: anyway

TG: i was going to sneak away and find your house with a descriptive google search and go there to demand a conversation  
TG: ill stop by and we can work this out better

TG: make a plan over internet and put it into action when we see eachother face to face

TG: how does that sound

I didn't dare breathe. This was… this was _too_ convenient. Even the slightest air current would topple this and it would shatter. Slowly, slowly I moved my fingers across the keys.

TT: That sounds perfect.

TG: okay cool listen this is terrible fucking timing but i have to go now

TG: ill send you another message later tonight

TG: and im going to tell egbert and harley that youre back on the grid

TG: so expect stuff from them i guess

TG: dont do anything okay

TG: and for the love of all these goddamned puppets stay online

I swallowed heavily, coughing, my shoulders dropping- from relief or exhaustion, I couldn't say.

TT: Dave

TG: yeah

TG: dont get all mushy right now i know im basically a knight in shining armor but youre not really a princess

TG: im rescuing another knight

TG: and we knights dont get sappy

TG: see you soon rose

- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 14:05 -

There was a moment of yellow- bright, blinding yellow, and, for a few seconds, I was basking.

And then it dimmed, browning and blackening under a single thought.

_Dave will die if he comes here._


End file.
